


Damn it, Frank

by Callistemon



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, Punisher scene AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 11:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13030149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callistemon/pseuds/Callistemon
Summary: What if Daredevil turned up at the carousel on the night of Castle/Russo showdown? (Or did he?)





	Damn it, Frank

“You don’t need to do this, Frank.”

From his position crouched against a tree, Frank whipped around, his eyes wide, looking for the source of the voice. High on adrenaline, he put a steadying hand against the trunk. _Damn imagination_ , he thought to himself, licking the beads of sweat off his upper lip and turning his attention back to the carousel.

“He doesn’t deserve to die.”

Frank didn’t look around this time. “What would you know,” he growled at the phantom voice.

“There’s a warrant for his arrest, Frank. It’s not up to you to choose if he lives or dies.”

Frank scowled. He didn’t need this right now. His rasping breaths sounded too loud in the night air. He held his breath, listening for a snap of a twig - something, anything that would reveal Russo’s location. It wouldn’t be the devil. No, the devil never made a sound.

Frank poked his head around the trunk, his gun mere millimeters ahead of his chin.

“Damn it, Frank.”

Frank hesitated for a moment then ducked back behind the trunk.

“He needs to be accountable for his actions,” Daredevil said. “Everyone needs to know what he did. That’s not going to happen if he’s dead.”

“What, like you? Last time I heard, you were buried under a couple’a hundred tons of rubble beneath New York.”

“Mmm…”, Daredevil replied, the verbal equivalent of a nonchalant shrug.

“So you’re here to haunt me now, Red, is that it? Whatever’s on the other side of the pearly gates not good enough for you?”

“You assume I’m dead.”

Frank closed his eyes as a drop of sweat slid down his forehead and onto his cheek. As he opened his mouth to respond, he heard a yelp from the carousel and whipped around to see two kids trussed to a couple of the horses.

“Russo, you sick fuck,” Frank said under his breath.

“It’s a trap, Frank.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Frank sneered.

“What are you going to do?”

“One batch, two batch, penny and dime,” Frank muttered, springing out from behind the tree and dashing towards the thick hedge adjacent to the carousel. He flattened himself against the coarse bush, puffing slightly.

“I guess we’re doing this,” whispered Daredevil.

“I guess _I_ am. You ain’t got nothing to do with this,” Frank growled. He flicked his hand near his face as if the phantom voice was some pesky fly.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Frank. The man you seek - he’s behind the dumpster. I’ll take him from behind, you rescue the kids.”

“What, you’re gonna take on a former special ops soldier with just a couple of weak ass sticks? You’re gonna get more than a crack to the forehead this time, Red. Haven’t you learned anything?”

“I’ve learned that you have humanity, Frank. You care about people, about justice… why else would you have gone along with Madani and Lieberman? You want the truth to come out. Behind this macho façade of yours, you’re a good man.”

“I thought we agreed we’re doing this,” Frank snapped, quickly dashing out from behind the bush. A shot rang out just before he made it to the cover of the concession stand. Such was his adrenaline that it took Frank a full five seconds to realize he was hurt. “Shit,” Frank hissed when it finally clicked. His thigh was already colored with fast flowing blood. He grunted in pain as he pulled his belt off, wrapping it tightly around his thigh.

“You can’t fight like that, Frank,” Daredevil chimed in. “You’re losing too much blood. Call it in. There’s no shame in calling the police. Call it in while you can.”

“This from the guy who came back for more after I shot him in the head.”

“Yeah, and I ended up chained to a post.”

“My point.”

“No, that was _my_ point. There’s no way this can go well, Frank.”

Frank growled and pulled the belt a notch tighter. He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and poked his head out from behind the concession stand. No sign of Russo - only the wails of the kids tied to the carousel. _Because making all that noise is going to help_ , Frank thought derisively.

Getting into a crouch, Frank could feel the blood in his leg pulsing around the belt. He took a step, and bit his lip to stop himself from audibly moaning.

“Where is he now?” Frank said, holding his breath as he waited for the devil’s smartass response. “Red, where is he now?” Frank licked his lips as he waited. Nothing. “Red,” he hissed a little louder. “Shit.”

He limped out from behind the raw industrial brick, running low towards Russo’s hiding spot. “He’d better be where you said he was, Red.”

Just as he reached the dumpster, Frank heard a shot and ducked sideways. But the bullet was nowhere near him. Frank took the opportunity to jump onto the carousel, weaving his way through the horses until he reached the kids. There was another shot, but again, not in their direction.

Frank’s fingers felt swollen and clumsy as he fumbled with the ropes around the kids’ hands. “Shut up,” he hissed, and the girl bit her bottom lip, her entire body quivering as he untied the final knot. “Now, when we get in line with the hotdog stand, I want you to run. Run, hide, call the cops, whatever you wanna do,” Frank said.

Another shot rang out, then another and another. The kids tried to run. “Wait,” Frank hissed, grabbing the girl’s wrist. She gave a small cry and he drew back as if stung. “Wait,” he repeated, his tone more sanguine this time.

As the hot dog stand came into view, Frank gave them a push and then ran the opposite way across the carousel, letting off a couple of warning shots to distract from the hostages’ escape. There was a returning shot, a heavy grunt and a thud. Frank leapt from the carousel, ducking behind a trash can, then a tree, and then a cotton candy stall as he searched for the source of the gunfire.

“Red? You gotta help me out here,” Frank whispered.

“I thought I just did,” came the reply.

Frank closed his eyes. His breaths were coming in heavy wheezes now. The blood loss from the bullet wound was turning everything fuzzy, and he knew he had to act now before he passed out. As he doubled back to the carousel, there was a scream of sirens from beyond the park perimeter, and the trees around him started to flash red. That’s when he spotted him - Russo, lying there, his body bathed in blinking red light. Keeping his gun pointed directly at Russo’s heart, Frank crept forward, stealthy, silent.

“What? No thanks?” Red quipped.

Frank gave a warning growl. He gave Russo’s boot a small kick and his foot flopped limply to the side. A red boot mark covered the side of Russo’s face, and blood trickled from his bruised and swollen nose.

“You do this, Red?”

Frank took his eyes away from Russo and desperately looked around for the source of the phantom voice, even though he knew it was in vain. Swaying on the spot, the sound of the sirens, the flashing, the blood loss, all got too much. He licked his prickling lips and blinked slowly, willing his eyes to focus. The crackle of radios could be heard on the other side of the carousel. There was a click of guns engaging, and Frank made to run for cover, but before he could take a single step, his body betrayed him and he crumpled to the ground.

 

* * *

 

“Frank… _Frank_ , wake up.”

Frank brushed the gloved hand from his shoulder, his breath hitching in pain as the movement jostled the wound in his leg.

“Get off of me,” Frank slurred. The light was bright above him, and a horned figure stood silhouetted against the fluorescent strip.

“R-red?”

“Yeah, Frank?”

“You’re here... I can see you. Why can I see you?”

“For a start, you’re not blind,” the devil quipped.

“My leg.” Frank reached down to feel the bandage covering his thigh and then to the IV in his hand. His eyes followed the tube that snaked up to the bag of saline hanging from the bannister above his head.

“Don’t touch it. You need to rest. At least for a day. You can stay here,” Daredevil said gruffly.

“Where am I?”

“Never mind that. All you need to know is it’s better than your current lair.”

“My – you know about-”

“Of course.” The devil breathed out, the air whistling through his clenched teeth.

Frank looked around. The room was sparse apart from a couple of couches and a table. He was lying on a thin mattress underneath a dusty-looking old fire reel.

“I can see you,” Frank said. “But-but I couldn’t see you before.”

The devil tilted his head up so that his face was partially lit. There it was - the usual five o’clock shadow, the red lips, the dimple…

“It’s you, Red. It’s you,” Frank said weakly. “But I couldn’t see you before.”

The devil smiled and lowered his head once more. “There’s more than one way to see, Frank. And there’s more than one way not to be seen.”


End file.
